


you know i love you so

by FlowerButton



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Friendship, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10998915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerButton/pseuds/FlowerButton
Summary: 5 times Luna loved people and 1 time she felt loved back





	you know i love you so

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this a while ago but I've been debating whether to put it up because it's not the best? However, it took about six tries to get this so I'm done, you can have it, huzzah!
> 
> I also spent five minutes thinking of a title so be happy with Coldplay's 'Yellow' lyrics (I cheated, I looked up 'love song lyrics' and a website linked me to some, but shhh! I have a reputation!)
> 
> I don't own any of the characters!
> 
> Hope it's good!

1.

Her mother was beautiful, all laid out like an angel, and Luna wanted to cry. She wanted to scream, shout, yell that _this wasn’t fair, God had lots of angels, she needed just one_ , but Luna also wanted her dad to stop crying, so she stayed silent. She let his hands hold hers, let the minister drone on about how wonderful her mother was, let them all wander up to see her in the coffin.

When her father tried to stand, he was unsteady, and so Luna pulled him along gently. He used her shoulder for support, her head as a tissue, and Luna waited as he leant on her mother’s coffin, kissing his wife’s forehead.

She waited until someone took pity on her and led her father back to their pew. Then she walked forwards and looked over the edge, looked down at her mother who, only days before, had brushed her hair back and called her _darling_. She pressed her hand to her mum’s, trying to ignore the coldness of it, and moved it to brush against her hair. It didn’t work very well, her hand stiff with death, and Luna dropped it, remembering the stiffness of her mother as she died.

_“I don’t need those books, Luna, love. Can you pass me the ones over there?”_

“I love you,” Luna said quietly to the dead woman in front of her.

She was dragged away moments later, by someone she had never met, back to her father whose eyes were red with tears. He pulled her close, into an awkward hug, and Luna tried to ignore the stares from people around her. The minister coughed, speaking over her dad’s sobs. Luna watched him prattle on, saying how badly her mother would be missed. How she was struck down in her prime. How she left behind a beautiful daughter.

Luna did not feel beautiful, not like her mother. She felt cold instead, like someone had chewed through her stomach and spat out her organs. Her father’s warm hands did nothing to quell the ice in her stomach. Her father’s tears did nothing to unfreeze her flesh. He couldn’t do anything now.

She missed her mum.

 

 

2.

Her father threw a stone across the stream by their house, his ankles deep in the water. She watched from the riverbank, her toes dipped in and kicked about. The rock skimmed the water, and Luna focused her energy on it, getting it further than before. Her dad cheered after twelve flicks and turned to her excitedly.

“Should I teach you?” he asked, and Luna got to her feet, finding a rock under the water as she made her way to her dad. He guided her hand, pointed to where she should aim, and demonstrated with his own stone. Luna got it to flick thirteen times before it plopped into the river, clearly tired from its hopping.

Her own went fifteen and her father realised what was happening.

“Are you doing that?” he wondered, and Luna nodded. She hadn’t spoken since her mother’s funeral, not for two months, though her father tried relentlessly to get her to say something. “Luna, that’s magic. Like me and your mum, Luna. That’s magic!”

His voice rose excitedly and he spun her round, grinning widely. Luna smiled back, forcing excitement into her eyes, knowing that in less than thirty seconds his own eyes would well up with tears. Sure enough, they did, and he toppled backwards into the water as he began to cry.

“Pandora should be here,” he muttered. “I should have been home, I should have done something, oh Luna, I’m so sorry.”

It was the first time he had apologised and Luna let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

_“What happened, Luna? Where’s your mother? ‘Dora? Pandora?”_

“It’s not your fault,” she told him gently, kneeling beside him. He let out a sharp sob and Luna wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice grating after months of disuse. “I should have handed her the right spellbook.”

“Oh no, Luna, sweetie, no,” Xenophilius exclaimed, pulling away from her. “It is not your fault, it is not your fault at all.”

“I miss her,” she murmured quietly. “I miss her.”

“I miss her too,” her dad told her, brushing a hand through her hair. “But I still have you, and you have me, and I swear I will keep you safe, Luna.”

“I love you,” Luna mumbled into his shoulder, and he pulled her tightly to him. “I miss her and I love her and I love you, Dad.”

She didn’t hear his response, the tears already too much.

 

 

3.

Ginny Weasley was an incredible potioneer, an incredible dueller, and an incredible person, and she was so very nice to Luna. Luna, who had been at Hogwarts three years and had no friends, was a little wary of Ginny’s attention at first. But after an hour into double Transfiguration, Luna knew Ginny was as kind as they came.

They sat in the Great Hall and ate lunch together sometimes, and Ginny would find books for Luna in the library. They talked about Luna’s dad’s magazine, and Ginny would say how she thought it was funny that Blibbering Humdingers were so difficult to find because their name was so memorable. Luna learnt, in turn, about Ginny’s brothers, her mother and father, and how she loved to fly.

“It’s liberating,” Ginny told her. “Loony, you’d love it.”

Luna didn’t bother to tell her that it wasn’t her name. When Ginny said it, it seemed as if she meant it kindly, like it was an inside joke only the two of them had. Like Luna was her friend.

They talked more and more, and sat closer in class, and Luna found herself in complete adoration of Ginny. She was strong, her eyes determined whenever she started something new, and Luna felt herself grow in her company. She was becoming more of herself, the self she had before she went to Hogwarts, perhaps the self she had before her mother passed away.

It was around Easter when Ginny dragged her onto a broom.

She laced her arms around her friend as they soared across the Quidditch pitch, the wind slipping through her hair. Luna was laughing, smiling, her eyes wide open and shining against the breeze. Ginny was laughing too, and Luna felt comfortable, open. Ginny was right, this was fun, but she had a feeling that it wasn’t the sky that made it feel like peace.

It was the months of talking with someone and having them listen to you. Having someone there, for you, for you to rely on. With Ginny’s smile as wide as it was when they were together, Luna felt as if she was settling down after a storm, as if she could stay in a single moment of tranquility forever.

They touched down, and Ginny spun around as Luna dismounted. Her eyes were bright, piercing, though oh so kind.

“See? Told you, Luna. You loved it.”

And Luna agreed.

 

 

4.

Neville Longbottom started out at someone she had seen but never truly met. Luna wasn’t naturally a quiet person, but Neville seemed to be, his nose stuck in some kind of plant as he ignored everyone around him. It was quite adorable, really, especially when he scrunched up his nose and sneezed at a strong smelling leaf.

The D.A changed her knowledge of him. He was quiet, yes, and decidedly clumsy upon occasion, but he had a huge heart. His spells, though a little wonky, were powerful, and his eyes, though a little scared, were stormy. He had his loyalties, she knew, just like Ginny and just like herself.

She walked to the Great Hall with him one day, startling him into a conversation.

“Uh, hey,” he greeted.

“Hello,” she replied. “I saw you in the greenhouse earlier. What plants were you looking at?”

His face flushed a little but he eagerly talked about the mandrake babies he was helping Professor Sprout grow for the second years. Luna asked if he’d always helped Professor Sprout, and he said no, just this year, because - and here his voice lowered, as if he was telling her a secret - _some people_ were trying to fire her. Intrigued, she pressed for more, and before either of them knew it, they had settled down to eat at the Gryffindor table. It was nice, to talk freely to people about how much of a hindrance _some people_ were to their education, but mostly it was just nice to find someone to talk to who wasn’t Ginny or Harry.

They continued to meet in the library, reading books and books on everything related to anything, and talking about their discoveries. They taught each other spells in the quiet of the kitchens, using failed souffles as target practises, and laughing as the house elves gave them even more. They followed Harry to the Department of Mysteries and fought Death Eaters together and mourned Dumbledore the following year.

Neville was warm in a way that was different to Ginny. If Ginny was the sun, hot and fiery and kind, then Neville was the sand, soft and sharp and jumbled. He could be loud and rude, shout curses and hexes at the top of his lungs, but he’d still sit with her on the steps of the school and talk about mandrakes and Crumple Horned Snorkacks. He was soft without being weak, and Luna drew strength from his determination, his loyalty. His love.

It wasn’t romantic, they both knew it, but it felt like home. After the Battle of Hogwarts, they sat down on the steps together and Luna laid her head on his shoulder, and he just asked her to talk. About what, she wondered. Anything, he said.

So she did. She talked about Malfoy Manor, about caring for Ollivander, about finding a way into Hogwarts, about missing her father. She talked about the way she was tired - so tired, she didn’t realise it before - and how she knew that, even though they had won, they had lost so much, too much.

He held her as they cried, for his grandmother lost in counting the bodies on the floor, and for her father lost in the woods around their home. For his parents, locked up in St Mungo’s, hidden by nurses and Healers, and for her mother buried beneath the dirt, hidden from her. For Harry Potter, who was curled up in the far corner from them, head resting on McGonagall’s shoulder as he sobbed. She was holding him, like Neville held her, and it struck Luna ever so swiftly.

She loved Neville, very much. She wanted to hug him daily and visit him and talk about plants with him. She wanted to learn spells and laugh about house elves and investigate Crumple Horned Snorkacks with him. Because he was her friend, like Ginny was her friend, like Harry and Ron and Hermione were her friends.

She loved her friends, oh so much, and she was so thankful they were alive.

 

 

5.

After the War, she went home to her father and they talked. He wanted to leave, the memories too strong for him, and she offered to stay and take care of the house in case he wanted to return. She told him to visit some Muggle places, or go on an expedition, or simply get some sleep, and he did, taking most of his wardrobe with him. Luna knew he wasn’t coming back.

Harry took two weeks to arrive on her doorstep and she offered him tea when he came in. His hair was long, she noticed, and it covered his glasses as it flopped forwards. His hands shook as he took the cup, his leg bouncing as he sat down, and Luna pressed her hands to his and forced him to look at her.

“You once told me,” she said, “that I was cool.”

And Harry laughed. His voice sounded hoarse, ragged, as if he’d never used it before then, but it was a laugh. It was something so incredible that Luna smiled too, a large grin settling on her face.

Harry stayed through the night and Luna cared for him. She listened to him talk about the War, the months of isolation, the years of Dumbledore’s confusing words. Of Snape. Of his father. Of his mother. Of Sirius and Remus and Tonks and even Pettigrew.

And then he spoke about Teddy.

“He’s beautiful, Luna,” he told her. “Eyes as bright as his father’s and his hair is never the same colour twice. You’d love him, Luna. Merlin, you’d think the world of him.”

She visited with him, the next time he went, and held the child in her arms. Teddy was heavy, but exactly as Harry had described, and Luna adored him. His smile reminded her of Ginny’s when she flew; his hair reminded her of Harry’s when it grew; his eyes reminded her of Neville’s as he talked about his plants.

It hurt, she thought.

“It hurts,” she said, and Harry seemed to understand and she loved him for it.

“Where will you go?” Harry asked her as they left.

“Away,” she said. “To seek out new places and new people. To find a Blibbering Humdinger and a Crumple Horned Snorkack.”

“Will you write?”

And Luna said of course. She kissed his cheek as they parted ways and he hugged her as if he was never going to see her again. She supposed he wasn’t, not like she was now, not like she had been before. She would be new but she would still love.

 

 

+1

She’d gone to Romania with Charlie Weasley after the War. He was mourning his little brother, so she settled into a train carriage with him and told him stories about Fred’s adventures at Hogwarts, including tales Ginny and Ron had told her. She told him that Fred was brave and good to her, when so few were, and Charlie seemed to calm as he told her about Fred’s childhood. It was comfortable, really, almost as if it was Ginny sat across from her on a train carriage to Hogwarts. Almost as if everything was alright again.

But then, she wondered, had anything ever really been alright in the first place?

They worked on the Dragon Sanctuary together as people began to come back from the UK. Muggleborns who had gone to hide their families and Purebloods who had gone to fight against Voldemort. She kept a track of the food resources and asked around for where some of the creatures her father told her about would be. She crept into enclosures for thestrals and spoke softly to them, and she crept into enclosures for dragons and fell asleep next to their warmth.

It was a thestral enclosure where Luna met him. The man with the nervous smile. He had a drawing pad under his arm and a selection of pencils in his belt, along with what looked to be charcoal, and he sat down next to Luna as she fed the invisible beasts

“What do they look like?” he asked, a lopsided grin on his face. He was seated precariously on the edge of the fence and Luna was watching him as he teetered.

“Horses,” she said, and then described the thestrals to him. Black and big and scary but not really. Like a nightmare come true that turns into a dream halfway through. Like the sun in the early morning, when you don’t know if it will be a good or bad day.

He told her his name, his age - eighteen, but he felt older - how he’d been abroad for the War, stopping Death Eaters from taking animals for power. He told her she was beautiful and strong and brave and smart, and that he loved her smile. He told her that his favourite food was pasta, even if he couldn’t make it without burning it, and he asked what her favourite colour was.

She told him it was yellow. She told him her name. She told him her story, her history, how she could be beautiful but the world wasn’t. She told him that she loved pasta too, but like him, she couldn’t make it. She told him he was smart and quick and bright and funny.

He made her laugh. He told her jokes. He showed her his art, his talent with a pencil, and he showed her his scars, from fighting and saving. He told her that the world was not beautiful but things inside it were, like the stars and the dragons and the thestrals. He told her he believed her.

And that was how Luna knew she was in love. They had been curled up on a sofa in the Sanctuary, their shifts finished, and she was explaining about her father’s creatures. They were real, she insisted, and she was going to find them, someday, maybe, one day, hopefully.

He looked her in the eye and said, “Can I come too?” His voice was hopeful, trusting even, and full of curiosity. Full of excitement. Full of belief.

She agreed.

It took two years for them to hold hands and Luna fell even more in love with every day. He was gentle, kind, soft, and understanding, trusting, loving. He took her hands when the nightmares came, kissed her head as she wept, and promised her he would not leave. She was safe, he told her, and he would keep her safe for as long as she wanted him to.

She kissed his cheek when the thunder rattled and caused him to scream; she pressed her head to his when he cried for his brother, lost with the victims of the War; and she promised she would not abandon him. He was safe, she told him, and she would keep him safe for as long as forever if he desired.

He smiled at that.

Rita Skeeter reported on their wedding, as she had done with all Luna’s friends. They  were rarely kind articles, but Luna was beyond caring.

She stitched together her dress, handsewn on her father’s old sewing machine. He was in the front row again, sobbing with happiness, and she loved him. Hermione was taking pictures of the event, with Ron pointing out angles for them, and she loved them. Neville was charming the flowers to sing along to the wedding march, and Luna loved him. Ginny was walking her down the aisle, hands guiding her as she stepped carefully towards the front, and she loved her. Harry was sat at the piano, trying to play the wedding song as the flowers overcut him, and she loved him.

When she looked at Rolf, his eyes were wide, his mouth was agape, and she was scared. He looked shocked, horrified possibly. She wanted to turn, run away; what if he didn’t love her?

Ginny handed her over to him and his eyes softened, his smile widened.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“You look shocked,” she replied. Rolf smiled.

“You look beautiful,” he repeated, as if it was an answer. Luna supposed it was and she was almost certain he loved her. Her stomach was still flopping about, worried and fearful, and she still wanted to run, but his grip on her hands kept her firm.

“Do you love me?” she wondered quietly, as the minister spoke to the audience. Rolf didn’t frown like most people would have. He beamed.

“More than anything,” he said. “More than anyone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Rolf said, and it didn’t sound exasperated. It didn’t sound like he was lying. It didn’t sound like he was wrong.

“Because I love you,” she told him. “A lot. More than finding the Crumple Horned Snorkacks and the Blibbering Humdingers and everything else.”

“Do you still want to find them?” Rolf asked.

“Yes,” Luna said.

“Then can I come too?”

His eyes were full of wonder, full of excitement, full of belief. And full of love. It was then, Luna was certain.

“You love me,” she said.

“I love you.”

And Luna felt loved.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr!](https://the-grape-bowl.tumblr.com)


End file.
